My very special home stays. Part 2

We had just alighted from the busy Shealdah-Bongaon local and found our way out of the busier railway station and then into much busier and bustling market place.  I bought some sweets for my hostess and she bought some fish for her guest.  We were introduced a few days back and I was already in awe of the short little lady.

My hostess for the evening was Smt Ashima Mandal, a resident of Nischintapur village in the Bongaon district of West Bengal.  She belonged to a small farmer family, cultivated paddy, reared cows and pigs and had received formal schooling till 5^th std.

What was most inspiring about this unassuming lady was that she was also the Vice President of the district cooperative milk producers’ union, of 24 Parganas.  The District Magistrate being the Chairperson as per their bye-laws, this lady was therefore the highest in rank among the elected representatives.  And thus, I was so inspired by this lady.

I was there as a part of a Case Study assignment and thus decided to spend few days with some of the women belonging to the cooperative.

Outside the railway station, we hopped onto a Van Rickshaw.  Those who have been into the heart of rural Bengal will know what a van rickshaw is. The rickshaw moved like a snake in the bustling market lane and then in a few minutes we moved into a quieter and darker road, leading to the village. The air was cooler and now and the moon shone in the clear sky.

The lady introduced me to the rickshaw puller.  He was her husband who earned a meagre living by pulling the rickshaw. They had two sons who aspired to be posted well in some job in future.

I kept listening to her; she was one good conservationist, who neither narrated to me the stories of her woes nor did she boast of her achievements being the top most leader of the most progressive dairy cooperative in the state.  This was a cooperative which was totally governed by women at all the levels.  She seemed so humble that I almost doubted if she even knew what it meant to be in that position.

We reached their home in no time.  It was a humble mud house with two small rooms.  The first room served as a living and bed room for the boys as well as the kitchen. 

Ashima di found that the son had already cooked the rice.  She spoke in a bit of embarrassment, “Why did you cook that coarse rice?” And turned to me, explaining, “He is a child, he does not understand things.” Then she spoke to herself, “Let me cook the fine rice for didi”.  I assured her that she did not need to cook separately and waste the already cooked meal.

After freshening up, I was allotted my place for the evening.  A cosy bed in the inner room.  Leaving the family to have some chit chat of their own, I took out my diary and started jotting down the experiences.   

Post dinner, I had my chats with Ashima di.  I asked her whether she ever felt nervous when she represented the cooperative in the State Level Federation meetings where sitting next to her would be probably the Secretaries and Ministers.  She confidently replied that her experience with the animals was unmatched to anyone there and also, she said she would put forth her thoughts as per her exposure, understanding and experience.

That evening, as I heard about her story more and more, I was filled with respect and admiration for this lady who was married off at an early age to a person who had only a little piece of land as asset.  She toiled hard along with her husband and set up the little piggery business and two cows.  The house was destroyed in the flood and it would take more than their means to re build as it was before.

I spend the night in the inner room.  It was a winter night and the cold wind blew hard from the partially repaired roof.  The flood had damaged the roof completely and they had barely managed to put back some thatches on it and the opening left an avenue for the winter cold to gush in.  Shivering terribly, in spite of the quilt and my shawl, I spent the night half awake, only reassuring myself that I would remember this night forever.  And so I did I.  My writing about it after about thirteen years, is proof enough!  

The next morning, the winter sun shone brightly and lit up the small courtyard which Ashima di was polishing with cow dung.  I had my bath across the road, under an irrigation pump, as all the neighbourhood ladies did.

I helped her in the kitchen, chopping vegetables while listening to her stories and also watching how efficiently she managed the fuel, the oil and other resources.  That was a lesson of life-time about low fat cooking, I must say.

Post an early lunch, I was ready to leave and bid them good bye. I was totally in dilemma whether I should pay her for the hospitality or should I hand over some cash for having sweets, for the children.   Although I do not remember what I did, her request still rings in my ears, “Didi, I do not want anything except your prayers that my children live a life better than ours”.

Yes Ashima di, your hardships would reap the best benefits and your dreams will fulfil forever.  Waiting to meet her again and translate this little note for her.

My very special home stays. Part I

As I keep reading reviews about many homestays across our country, I cant help but fondly remember my stays in the homes of so many people I have come across, all as part of my job-life.

During my first ever job posting at a small block of Barhi in the Hazaribagh district, I had to spend 10 days with a family in a village called Mahuatanr.  They were middle aged couple, who stayed along with the extended family members. 

As I reached, they extended a warm welcome and gave me a place to keep my belongings.  For sleep, I used one of the ‘Khatiyaas’, placed in another room which I shared with a lady of the extended household.  Soon I was a part of the family.  The couple had a small plot of land and also worked as agriculture-labourers; the husband migrated to Kolkata during the Puja season to find wage-labour options and the lady was the Secretary of the Self Help Group which our organisation, PRADAN, had organised.  They also sold fertilizers, snacks and small goodies from one of the rooms in their house.

Soon I was not only a part of the household but the rest of the little village too.  They were so very warm and welcoming; I missed my room at Barhi no more.  My mornings would start with a warm smile from one of the neighborhood girls and a chat at the well with her.  A refreshing bath near the well, with all the ladies playfully pouring buckets of water on me was a joy again.

During the day time, I would spend my time moving around the village, meeting the family members, attending the Self Help Group meetings. During nights, the women and children gathered in the courtyard and in the light of a small oil lamp and the star lit sky, we chatted for hours.  I often shared my little knowledge about the cosmos, the stars, and constellations, showed the kids the Milky Way and told the women how we are moving around the sun and how to differentiate a planet from a star and how our universe is still expanding.  They seemed so very amazed at the universe; one of them asked me that I should tell them something new about it, every day!

This was a village where I experienced the ‘FIRSTS’ in my life, in many terms.  For the first time, I experienced estimating the time by the sun’s position, since the same day I arrived in the village, my watch had stopped working.  So I depended on the sun.  First time I realized how much the water means to them when some of the women helping me with my bath at the well shared, looking up at the sky, “I think it will rain today, we will have a bath”. 

It was for the first time I observed the wonderful community labour system called the ‘Pachaathi’.  There were 5 groups of households who did the agriculture labour in each others’ field, day by day, in turn.  The most important wage was the provision of a simple but full lunch for the entire family. 

I was lucky enough to be present on the first day when the village started the Rice Transplantation, although I avoided being present at the ceremonial ‘sacrificial’ ceremony of little chickens.

I joined the women in the transplantation and after some hitches, I picked up the art.  They sang through the transplantation taking break for lunch.  I had one of my best sleeps that night.

For the first time in my life (and till the present day, my only), I experienced the pain of being bitten by a scorpion!  And was cured by the local ‘wizard’.  And that day itself I walked about 5 kms in the hills along with the lady of the house to the Village Haat for shopping.

I watched with admiration how the woman, with whom I was visiting the Haat briskly walked back home along the rocky and hilly road, carrying a sack of 5 kilos potatoes on her head.

I was also made in charge of the little shop from where the family sold fertilizers.  So I learnt to differentiate between the fertilizers and used the huge balance…for the first time!

I was told that I glowed much more after I returned from that little, remote village.  More than a decade has passed; I have not visited them ever since I moved out of Barhi. My gracious hosts during the special ten days, my companions in many first experiences in life, may God bless you with long and healthy life.